More Good Dogs: More Stories About Good Dogs and the People Who Love Them

by Rabbit Redbone

  Tony shot me a triumphant smile, and I half-grinned back, but I was still uneasy. I hadn’t liked the bend of Shep’s neck, his sad, humble stance as his ankle bent to accommodate his weight. To me, his bow had looked more like a slow collapse.

  Once everyone had drifted away and the sun had slipped all the way into the ocean, Tony bought two beers, and we trudged across the hot sand to sit and drink companionably in the dark, watching lights twinkle across the tops of the waves. Shep leaned against my leg, his eyes slipping closed as my hands ran over and between his ears. His fur was thick and soft and very warm.

  “He’s an amazing dog,” Tony said. “I saw it right away when he ran through those aliens to protect Daisy. The way he turned, it was like he knew right where the camera was! Why, you’ll have him trained in no time, and everyone will want him in their pictures…I just know it, Ray!”

  “You think so?” I said, but the question was rhetorical, and Tony knew it. He leaned back on his elbows, and the wind brushed his hair back from his forehead. His confidence in Shep touched me, and I kept petting my good dog, digging my fingers into his thick ruff. “I guess you’re right.” I said and looked up in time to see a falling star streak across the sky above the ocean, and I had the strangest combination of feelings…excited and anxious for Shep but a little sad, too, because as we sat on that beach, I felt the trajectory of my life change. I wasn’t destined to be leading man–heck, I never had been–but now I wasn’t even going to be the leading man’s best friend, nor the hero’s sidekick or the master criminal’s right-hand henchman. I might have bit parts, no lines, just enough to keep me in scenes near Shep, but my own dreams of being an actor sizzled out that night…same as that falling star.

  * * *

  Shep learned faster than I could have dreamed possible. It helped that I had no gainful employment and was able to devote all my time to training.

  I didn’t know how to train a dog, so Shep and I made it up as we went along. Tony had said the most important thing was learning to hit your mark–the place where an actor stood in a scene–so we started with that.

  I bought three pounds of hot dogs. It was a squeeze on our tight budget, but necessary to Shep’s training. In Tony’s words, the hot dogs were Shep’s motivation, and motivation was essential to any truly believable scene.

  I cut those dogs into thin disks and dried them in our small apartment oven, and with a pouchful, Shep and I hit the park down the street. I figured it would be best to train him within the sights and sounds of children and young mothers, traffic, office workers at their lunches, street vendors…all the things that might distract him. If he could keep his focus in that environment, he shouldn’t get disturbed by cameras, lights, and sound equipment.

  That first day felt long and frustratingly wasteful. It was more me than Shep, of course; I just didn’t know how to ask him to do what I wanted him to do.

  I used an old leather glove as the ‘mark’ and held it near Shep’s nose while giving him a wizened disk of hot dog. “This is your mark, Shep,” I said and slipped him another tidbit. “Remember it, okay?”

  I told him to sit and stay, and I walked the glove twenty feet away. I dropped it and called him to me, and once he was sitting at my feet, I flipped him a treat. Then I told him to sit and stay again and did it all over. But I wasn’t teaching him to go to the mark, I was only teaching him to come to me…which he already knew how to do.

  Next, I put him in a sit-stay and tossed the glove about ten feet from us. “Go get it, Shep,” I said. He looked from me to the glove I had tossed and canted his head to the side. “Go get it!” I said and gestured toward the glove. Shep walked a few unsure paces, then turned to look at me, his brown eyes filled with confusion.

  I repeated the ‘go get it’ with the gesture, and finally Shep ambled to the glove. My heart swelled with joy, and I was about to tell him he was a good boy when he picked up the glove and trotted it back to me. He sat, dropped the glove at my feet and looked up at me with confident anticipation. He’d done what I asked…I just hadn’t asked the right thing. I gave him a piece of meat and bent to pick up the glove.

  We tried again and again. Shep would get to the glove and I would yell ‘stay!’ and throw my hand up in the ‘stop’ gesture he already knew. But that would only cause him to run back to me and sit, as he thought was correct, as it had always been ‘sit’ and then ‘stay’ in combination.

  By that afternoon, I was in despair, and Shep was more confused than ever. I hadn’t been consistent with rewarding him; I hadn’t been consistent with hand gestures…in short, I had been a disaster.

  “Sorry, boy,” I said and patted his head. He panted and stared at me as though trying to decipher my thoughts. “I’ve really messed this up.”

  “He forgives you,” Tony said, coming up behind me. I’d told him where I had planned to take Shep, and he’d said he might drop by after he finished his part in a commercial that was shooting three blocks away.

  He said, “That’s the beautiful thing about a dog, Ray. They always forgive you!” He patted Shep’s head, and Shep laid his ears back in appreciation. “How are you, boy? Ready for your close-up? Ready for your star outside Grauman’s?” Shep seemed to grin at Tony’s words, and I couldn’t help but smile along with him.

  “That’s better,” Tony said and ruffled my hair, too. “You looked pretty glum, chum. Anything I can do to help?”

  I told him about the disastrous day and kept the blame right where it belonged: on myself. Tony made some suggestions, primarily starting smaller. He also said that the hand gestures would have to be more important than the voice commands.

  “No director is going to want you off screen yelling sit and stay,” he said. “Shep’s a smart dog. I’ll bet you a beer he can get small differences between gestures. Lemme try something, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said and handed over the much-depleted hot dog pouch.

  Tony led Shep a small distance from me. “This will help start him over from scratch, too. At least, I hope so.”

  Tony stood in front of Shep and held up the bag of hot dogs so that Shep couldn’t miss them. Then he tucked the bag into his belt. He held up his index finger, bent and pushed Shep’s rear to the ground and gave him a treat. He did it again, his movements clear and deliberate. Shep already knew the voice command to sit, so picking up on the hand gesture took him no time at all. Soon, Shep’s bottom was hitting the grass as soon as Tony held up that one finger.

  Then, Tony held up two fingers in a V and then bent and pulled Shep’s front paws out, laying him down. And gave him a treat. He repeated that gesture until Shep lay down with ease at the V gesture. Tony didn’t speak a word the entire time.

  As I watched their steady progress, my sense of anticipation came back, and though the day was actually drawing to a close, my heart rose like the new sun. Once again, Tony had showed me the way.

  I watched as he roughhoused with my good dog in between lessons, each of them looking like advertisements for prime specimens of their respective class of animal. They were both fit and good looking, charismatic and charming. I knew right then that Tony and Shep were going to become a well-known team. I foresaw movie after movie, maybe a television series, where Tony and Shep would work side by side to save the farm, save the damsel in distress, save their platoon, save the child lost and wandering alone in the woods. It seemed as inevitable and right as the ceaseless crashing of the ocean waves.

  And I would be with them the whole way.

  Maybe not seen, maybe not even heard with the new set of silent hand gestures I was already starting to put together in my mind, and maybe I’d never cross a stage to receive an award…but I’d get to be bosom buddies with the two that would.

  That’s something, isn’t it?

  Later that night as the television ran and Shep slept in exhausted contentment next to me on the couch, I made notes. I would need gestures for all the basics, sit, stay, mark, etc., but for Shep to really shin
e, he’d need to do other things, too. Bark and growl on command, whine on command. Beg. Wave his paw. Fall. Crawl like a wounded soldier. Roll over. Die.

  It was a daunting list, but I was buoyed by Shep’s progress and Tony’s confidence in me. But I had to hurry; the movie was only ten weeks away.

  * * *

  The German shepherd ran panting through the rough desert terrain. There was a slight hitch to his stride, but he ran flat out, nonetheless. A horse and rider pounded after him, the horse kicking up clods of sandy dirt as tumbleweeds rolled away. In the distance, a single wolf howl rose into the air like an apparition’s mad cry.

  From the top of a large rock outcropping, the dog stopped and looked back, barking, as if checking to make sure the cowboy saw where to follow. Then he vaulted from the rock and took off running again. A bloody footprint remained where he’d been standing.

  The horse balked and danced uneasily, pawing at the ground until the cowboy leaned over and patted his gleaming neck. “You can do it, Champ,” the cowboy said. The lines in his handsome face told of long days in the elements; the badge on his chest spoke of his heroic trade. He ran a hand over the horse’s shoulder and said, “I believe in you.”

  He backed the horse up and got a running start, and the horse jumped mightily, but still barely clearing the rocks. On the other side, the dog sat next to a small child. A girl. She was huddled against the German shepherd, her face buried in the ruff of his neck as she cried.

  The cowboy jumped from the horse, losing his hat, and ran to the girl. He swept her into his arms and spun her in a circle, his face lit with a laughing smile. “Mary! My girl!” he said.

  Her small arms went around his neck. “Daddy!” she cried. “I didn’t think you’d ever find me!” She collapsed against him, sobbing. He pressed her head to his chest and looked up to the heavens. His smile disappeared as he closed his eyes, a single tear running down his cheek. He cried out in his pain and gratitude and fell to his knees.

  The little girl sat up in his arms. She put her hands on his face. “Daddy, you cryin’?”

  “A little bit, babygirl,” he said and kissed the tip of her nose. “Just a little bit.”

  A tremulous smile appeared on the girl’s face. Her curls shimmered as she tilted her head at her daddy. “Buster saved me, Daddy,” she said. “He stayed with me all night and didn’t let those old wolves get me! He fought ’em real good!”

  The cowboy looked to where the German shepherd sat, panting. “Good job, Buster!” he said. “You saved Mary!”

  The dog hesitated, as if trying to remain upright, his tail brushing the sandy dirt behind him. Then he tilted, listing to the side. The little girl cried out and struggled in the cowboy’s arms.

  “Buster!” she screamed. The cowboy put her down gently, and she ran to the shepherd. The dog was lying on his side now, panting heavily. A bright red smear of blood on his black and tan fur showed where he’d been injured. The little girl threw herself over the shepherd’s neck, clinging to him and crying. “Buster, oh, Buster!” She looked at her daddy, who stood by, his retrieved hat held sadly against his thigh. “Daddy!” Mary said. “Buster needs help! We have to get him back to the farm! Doc Miller could–”

  But the cowboy shook his head. He went to kneel by his daughter. “He’ll never make it, Mary. He’s lost too much blood. Just tell him you love him, babygirl. Then…” the cowboy swallowed and went on, “…you tell him goodbye.”

  The girl’s eyes filled with grief as she stared at her daddy. “No…no, Daddy,” she whispered. “Please…”

  “It’s all right, Mary,” the cowboy said. He cupped her neck in his hand and brought his forehead to hers. “He did what he wanted to do…what he was made to do–keep you safe.” His voice dropped to a rough, emotion-filled whisper. “Now, tell him thank you and kiss him goodbye. A good dog deserves that more than anything else in the world.”

  Mary stared at her daddy a minute longer, the realization of the injustice of the world coming to a harsh reality in her innocent eyes. Then she bent over the dying shepherd and rested her face on his shoulder.

  The dog’s eyes closed.

  “Thank you, Buster,” she said. “I love you. You’re my good dog.” Her voice broke, and the cowboy stood and turned his back, giving his daughter her privacy. He stared instead at the four wolf corpses dotting the near horizon.

  He whispered, “Thank you, Buster. Thank you for saving my little girl.”

  Music swelled, and credits began their slow crawl up the screen. In the theater around us, there was a two-heartbeat breath-held silence, and then the crowd went wild, clapping and stomping. The women were crying and not a few of the men, too. I wiped my own tears away and, beside me, perched happily on a theater seat, Shep began to bark. On the other side of him, Teenie Guest–the young actress who’d played Mary–laughed with infectious good cheer and put her arms around Shep. Tony leaned in, too, kissing the girl on the top of her head, and paparazzi cameras began to pop and flash.

  A photographer said to me, “Hey, buddy, could you make way and let Miz Anthony slide in there next to Buster? Thanks, buddy.”

  I looked to my other side, and Carla Anthony–who’d played Mary’s mother, the strong and beautiful sherriff’s wife–looked a twinkling apology my way. She leaned to whisper into my ear, “They’re ignorant, Ray. They just don’t know who the real hero is.” She leaned back in her seat to smile at me. She was beautiful. Shiny black hair that fell almost to her shoulder blades; deep blue, almost violet eyes; she took my breath away even though we’d worked together for six months during the filming of Dark Valley.

  “Buddy, move it, wouldja? Miz Anthony, if you could sit right next to Buster…maybe give him a little kiss? That’d be great!”

  I stood to let her slide past me. She even smelled beautiful. I wasn’t even bothered when the photographers pushed me even further down the row; I was too dazed by Carla.

  Hands pummeled my shoulders as the producers, director, and various extras congratulated me. The mood was jubilant, and bottles of champagne were passed around. I shook hands and nodded and laughed and made my way to the deserted back row where I sat to watch the others celebrate.

  I wasn’t feeling down; I was happy. This was Shep’s fifth movie, and the first one he was the star of. Well, him and Tony. Just like I’d thought that day two years ago in the park…they had become a team. In High Rides the Hangman they’d had to write in a part for Shep since it was a last-minute decision to put him in at all. It was sheer luck that the director had had a German shepherd when he was a boy in Deutschland–between his nostalgia and his star’s pestering, it became inevitable that Shep would catch a break. Plus, by then, the alien movie was about to come out, and there were already murmurings about the scene where the German shepherd saves the day.

  Tony had been right…Shep was a star.

  Yes, I was happy. Hangman hadn’t generated much money for us, but after that Shep had been in two more: One Gun and The Soldier’s Heart. One Gun was a fairly predictable western where the protagonist’s (Tony) horse died, but his dog (Shep) lived. Heart was a drama about a shell-shocked World War I veteran (Tony) who couldn’t seem to let go of the past. He finds a stray dog (Shep) and has to straighten himself out in order to take care of his new companion. The veteran died at the end of that one, having lost his battle with a mysterious wasting disease that either did or didn’t have something to do with his former drinking. He died with the shepherd lying loyally beside him on the hospital bed–a sympathetic and loving nurse having snuck him in for the purpose of easing her troubled patient’s war nightmares.

  The script was a bit of a mess, but the beauty of it was that it focused on Tony and Shep and the relationship between them in an almost human-to-human way. Shep didn’t play the noble, one-dimensional dog hero, saving children and damsels at every turn; he was a stray with a stray’s dubious past. He was complicated, sometimes licking his owner’s hand, sometimes snapping at it. The picture
was gritty and dark, and there was a scene where Shep steals an orphan’s slice of bologna. It hadn’t been hard to teach him that trick!

  By then, Mars Brothers, a mid-sized studio, had contracted us for a four-picture deal…every one of them written specifically for Tony and Shep to star in together.

  I bought a little house with a big backyard with plenty of room for training. It was nice to get out of the apartment, even nicer when studios started contacting me about training other animals for other movies; ones that had nothing to do with either Shep or Tony. That was good because I’d been beginning to feel like Shep’s handler rather than my own master.

  I sat back in the theater seat and watched the knot of people posing for photos halfway down the aisle. This movie, titled Saving Mary, had been a vehicle for both Shep and Tony and also for Teenie, the studio’s up-and-comer in the kiddie set. It would be a hit; how could it not? A kid and a dog? Home run.

  There was confusion among the crowd, sharp cries and caws of laughter as people jumped aside. Then Shep was in the aisle, his head raised, sniffing for me. I didn’t say anything, just watched him with satisfaction. At five years old, he was in his prime, and a gorgeous prime it was. Regular exercise and the best food made his coat thick and shiny, his bright eyes even brighter. When he finally spotted me and his jaws split in a bark, his teeth shone white and healthy.

  He ran up the aisle in long strides, his excitement to find me obvious in his upturned ears and fanned, upraised tail. Behind him, people laughed. Some clapped. By then, Shep was in my lap, acting more like a five-pound Chihuahua than the sixty-five-pound beefcake he was. He whined and licked at my face, his ears pinned back happily. I hugged my good dog and kissed the top of his head.

  He was still my best friend.

  Carla cried out, “Take a bow! Take a bow, Ray!”

  They began waving their hands, waving me up, joining Carla’s cry, making it a chant. Tony and Carla, the director, even little Teenie. They were all laughing, the photographers milling with confusion, not knowing where to point their cameras–no one knew who I was; you could see the same sentiment mirrored from face to paparazzo face.